Nothing Is Born Afraid
by Castion-and-Clockwork
Summary: Jim was ashamed of his past, loathing his drunken mother & hating that he still harbored insecurities about going home. He brings Spock to Riverside in order to finally face his old demons & what comes to light may ruin his relationship with Spock forever. In turn, Spock confronts Winona & tries to help his bondmate work through his fears & emotions, but at what cost? Spirk
1. Nature Vs Nurture

**This is a new story that I've been working on little by little, trying to flesh out an angsty piece surrounding Spock, Jim and Winona Kirk.**

**I hope you enjoy and I'd love to see the feedback you guys have. :) **

**Warnings: Depressing. This is a sad story, but nothing too much in this chapter.**

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A piece of Jim had known that this was the worst idea he's ever gone through with. Home had never been the two tory farm house in Iowa but something in him, maybe that masochistic side, the one Bones kept blaming Jim's injuries from away missions on, wanted to face up to the shadows of his childhood and prove he wasn't afraid of the past .

So when the Enterprise was given the orders to dock at home for a few new upgrades and two weeks' worth of shore leave, Jim had suggested that Spock come say with him in his old home. He should have taken Spock's slightly crinkled brow as a sign of worry but had simply smiled wide and reassured his Vulcan that everything would be ok.

_Things were not ok._

_**-Page Break-**_

There was the soft, sharp sound of a sigh and then a curse, Jim running a hand over his weathered face, eye brows pinched down, forehead crinkled, mouth set in a disgusted line as he swallowed his thoughts and turned back to Spock, shame flushing up in him in hot, sickened waves.

"Go wait in the car." He didn't look up from his dirt crusted farm boots as he gave the dry order, his hand massaging at his aching neck as he tried to hide the embarrassment acridly eating him. But Spock, who had categorized all of Jim's movements and facial expressions, caught the signs and grabbed for him, ducking his head to try and catch a look at his eyes just to make sure.

"Jim, is everything-"

"Just go back to car, I need to-" His explanation was over shadowed by a crash of fragile shattering, most likely glass from the high pitched, glittery sound, followed by a rough, shaken woman's voice calling out, almost as if in delirious fatigue.

Calling weakly for Jim.

He turned without trepidation then, flying though the old screened door, answering with soft exasperation, almost like a child who had grown too quickly, "Mama, its ok, I'm here."

Outside, Spock felt absolutely alone again, the miles and miles of empty farm land barren and vast, the dusk wind cooling as the sun sat tired and heavy on the edge of the horizon. He wanted to climb the three steps up to the porch and breech the house, to near his bond mate as he told Winona Kirk that everything was ok, but Spock felt an awkward press of social protocol prod at his chest. On one hand, his Captain and mate had told him to retreat and go to the car and wait, but on the other, Spock couldn't ignore the tirade of sudden emotions flooding him as Jim's shield cracked under its neglect. Jim felt hurt and broken, was disgusted and angry, but saddened and almost guilty. And it was with a slight, silent morbid curiosity that Spock gathered enough courage to do the difficult thing and broached the empty chasm that was Jim's life, his real life, the one he had on Earth, the one that made him, him.

_**-Page Break-**_

Her hands were shaking a bit as she clutched at Jim's strong forearms, legs buckling beneath her as if she was an old rag-doll, her stuffing all falling out, eyes dazed, glassy like marbles as she groaned in pain and gave all her weight to the floor. But Jim was there, hoisting her up again and shouldering her softly as he managed to get her up the stairs and into the room at the end of the hall.

But the wood floors creaked just as they always had, so loud that he could barely make out Winona's voice sounding hoarse and exhausted, snuffled in his shoulder. But he knew she was whispering his name over and over, her fingers digging into his arm as if she could hold onto her peace of mind with the feeling of his creased flannel shirt sleeve. She groaned in pain, a sorrowful sound that dejectedly sapped her strength as she toppled and let go of him all together, drunkenly falling to the floor with little grace.

Jim reached for her and tried to let her down slowly onto the rug in her bedroom, face angrily crumpled in frustration and a myriad of other emotions as he looked down at his mother's hazy, half-mast and closing eyes, her sleep shadowed skin making her look much, much older than Jim remembered her being.

'_What has the world done to you?_' He wondered as he curled his fingers tightly and tried to will away the acid burn of confusion, resentment, sympathy, and utter pity tearing his innards to shreds. He bowed his head and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the face of the woman who had left him, had looked right through him his entire life, and caught his tears with a gruff sob as he bit his lip, and jumped, startled and ready to fight as a hand tentatively brushed his shoulder.

Jim's tense, locked muscles smoothed a bit as he caught the sight of Spock standing tall and somewhat out of place with himself, eyes a bit wide as he calculated all the ways to diffuse Jim in his anger with the least amount of damage, eye brows showing that he was caught off guard as well.

"Jim?" He inquired softly, picking his way through the palpable emotions hedging around his mate in trenches and barbed wire as his Captain tried to protect himself with a paled attempt of shielding his hurt, wrapping his shame around the pieces of his conscious, eyes hardened, face questioning but genially closed off as if he was about to bargain with the brass about being caught red handed.

"I thought I told you to wait in the car." He started halfheartedly, somewhat biting in his tone, interrupted by his First Officer's gentle hand on his cheek, thumb wiping at a tear, eyes warmly opaque. "Go, I have to…" his lips trembled as he took in a gulp of air to distract him from Spock's ever probing look, feeling more bare to his mate now than ever before.

Because in his mind, Jim could lock away and bury a few of the skeletons in his closet and Spock was kind enough not to push for answers. But here, with his old childhood home creaking and settling around them like the ruins of a twister, his mother a drunken mess at his feet, and worst of all, every raw emotion he had ever felt shredding up all his wounds like fresh cut stitches. Here, Jim was stripped of his pride, his accomplishments, and power, leaving the remnants of an abused, fatherless child.

"Let me help you get her to bed." Was all Spock said, with all his Vulcan coolness and logic glazing his ruffled features well as Jim nodded in understanding and gently grabbed for his Mother's sleeping form and let Spock tend to her once she was settled in bed with a cool wash cloth on her forehead and a glass of water on the side-table.

_**-Page Break-**_

Spock could tell that she was once very beautiful from the way her cheeks were rounded with the gentle curves of laugh lines, her blond hair graying softly at the roots and shimmering in the low lamp light, and by the kind fashion her eyes creased when she smiled. He remembers seeing flashes of her in Jim's mind when they melded and portraits of her at Starfleet's headquarters, her red engineer's uniform pressed and starched to perfection, eyes distant behind her curls, hair the same sun washed gold as Jim's.

But Winona Kirk had taken a devastating blow with the death of her husband, her eyes shadowed now, heavy lidded, graying and vacant as she stared off into the distance, the blank expression haunting on her gaunt features.

Her hair was frazzled, limp and waved like dusty feathers ripped from wings of fallen angels, making a halo messily about her thin slumped shoulders. She looked sick with the alcohol, lips cracked, trembling as she breathed in slow and uneven. Sometimes Spock wondered if she was even alive from how still she'd go, the lights drained from her eyes, but then she would shift bonily and give a shuddering cough into her thin hands. Her makeup-less face was pale and wrinkled just a bit at her eyes and mouth, almost like paper stretched and stitched across the sharp angles of her skeleton.

And as she sat huddled in on herself as if to hold together her aching joints, Winona choked in a sudden breath, her head snapping around as she glanced frightened, eyes accusing as she caught Spock spying from the door way.

But her features then softened, losing the ghost edge to her vision and she turned back to the empty space, shoulders falling in as she collected her breath and wet her lips to speak a small dismembered voice.

"Oh, it's just you."

Spock tilted his head with gentle curiousness to hear her soft whisper and held himself back from releasing its neutral façade.

Winona's hand then moved slowly, almost as if to draw no attention, fingers uncurling stiffly as she gestured to the open bed beside her. But as he moved, he saw her hand jerk at his footsteps and she coughed again, unrelenting it seemed, as if he was the contagion in the room draining her life.

_**-Page break-**_

Jim's hesitancy in melding with Spock in the early, tender days of their relationship had ties in his childhood but Spock had been patient, constantly hovering on the edge of asking questions and keeping a distance so as not to open old wounds. It had been a staggering surprise when Jim had nonchalantly brought up going home for their shore leave, one that Spock took well in stride and accepted, wondering for a moment if maybe this was Jim's way of reconciliation with his mother or maybe some human custom that Jim needed to complete in order to move forward.

Either way, Spock had looked forward to the visit with a twisted sort of curiosity, the kind that he was sure was highlighted by human tendencies, but he also felt that experiencing Jim's home life would strengthen their relationship, finally pulling back the curtains that shadowed Kirk's mind and showing Spock everything.

But now that Spock had pulled at the ties and seen what lay behind the closed doors, he felt the inky ribbons of something sickening him, churning his stomach.

Something much like fear.

As he stroked the thread of their mental bond and was answered with the click of a lock, Spock felt the cold coil in him, and as the wind flitted by the windows in a song of a cold, rainy storm coming, the feeling frozen in him, biting.

He was scared that Jim felt lonely and inadequate. He was scared of how this visit home would roughen and harden the man he had sworn to protect.

What scared him the most though, which he noticed as he sat slowly beside her, cross-legged, back ramrod straight, was that if he just glanced in his peripheral, he'd see Jim in the line of her nose, in the softness of her cheeks, the tender, tired skin under her eyes.

And he was at a loss of comfort, caught between putting a hand on her slender shoulder or, maybe, pulling her close to him to stop her from trembling so badly. His own mother had taught him that humans occasionally needed physical stimulus to calm the brute torrent of their psyches and he knew from immense experience that Jim always felt calmer when Spock held him.

But to come in contact with something so intricate as a foreign, broken soul, one which was so elaborately mottled as a dejected and clinically depressed human being, would no doubt cause her emotions to crash into him like a tidal wave, her mind leeching and desperate to hold onto something stable to fill the gaping wound of martyrdom, the black hole that her children, her job, the addictions, not even the entire universe of exploration could fill.

Spock began to wonder if this is what Jim would be like if he ever perished out in the black.

"I know Jim's mad at me…I deserve this…all his anger and avoidance…" She said after a soft sigh, as if she was burdened with such a simple, thoughtless function as forming her fears into words. "I just thought…" There was another pause, and within the silence, Spock began to wonder if she was ever going to finish her sentence, if she knew just how eclipsing this entire situation was. He let her sift through the hazy, roiling web of her emotions, trying to school his face to seem softer, friendlier. "I don't know what I thought." Winona finished wistfully, her head dropping with the weight of her statement, her still back shuddering silently as she bit her lip.

"I do not understand." Spock confessed in a hardened yet small voice, his eye brows drawn slightly, innocently. The woman in front of him was the main cause of Jim's distress, she left her children to fend from themselves with an abusive stepfather and she shirked her duties as a mother when she was planet side. He had never seen her smile in Jim's memories but now, looking at this withered shell of Winona Kirk, Spock couldn't find an ounce of anger toward her.

Instead, he felt a cold wash of _something_ blooming in his chest.

Jim would have called it _pity._

"I don't expect you to. Vulcans don't operate on extremes until they've bonded. Once you love someone to that level, you'll know what being truly lonely means." The tremble in her voice and the subtle way she pursed her lips into the twisted, small frown were the only indications of the hurt she was keeping swallowed back.

"As I am bonded to your son, I can truly say that I understand loneliness. On many levels." The truth thickened his voice as he stared her down, waiting for her human surprise to light her features as they lit Jim's. Instead though, she only scoffed, and broke their gaze, eyes now on the ceiling as she tipped her head heavily on the thin column of her neck. "I have felt the absence of my own mother, the alienation of my father, and the hostility of my peers. But never have I felt lonelier than when I was experiencing Jim's emotions towards his past."

His dark eyes reflected a pain that Winona had seen in her own mirror, and as his voice continued, its timbre cadenced and sharp, she felt stripped bare to the bone at his sincerity and seriousness.

"Because unlike myself who was full and then emptied over and over again in a sense, Jim was always empty. I may meditate and remember the warmth of my mother's voice as she read to me or the feeling of my father's secret pride at my accomplishments against all odds, but Jim truly has nothing. He represses his past, tries to cloak his memories in the shrouds of uncaring and detachment but they are there like a scar. And I know them, have seen them, have felt them, and have spent every moment I can trying to dissuade them, break them from him. So do not try and tell me that I do not understand or that I do not feel. For I know my own loneliness and I know Jim's much more than you do, madam."

There was a silence then that gathered around them like back, electric storm clouds, Spock's eyes leveling his Mother-in-Law with a penetrating challenge that the older woman couldn't ignore.

But before either could say a word, the rustic creak of the door joint echoed up the stairs, followed by Jim's golden voice asking, "Hey, Spock, mind helpin' me with getting the groceries from the trunk?"

The Vulcan stood then, elegant and composed as ever as if he hadn't just bore his soul to her, and didn't spare a glance back as he made his way to his mate, sweeping own the stairs hurriedly so he could catch the man at the door way in an embrace.

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**There will be more to come. :) **

**I mostly wanted t delve deeply into a few things, such as the relationship between Spock and Jim, as well as the complications with going home and the character of Winona Kirk. I know I painted her as sort of a washed up, drunken, feeble woman but that's not the entire picture of her and I will be expanding her character in the next chapters as well as exploring her relationship with Jim (both past and present) and her new knowledge of her son being bonded with a Vulcan! **

**I hope ya'll enjoyed enough to leave a review and tell me what you want to see or happen in the next chapters to come. :) Stick around! **

**You're loyal writer and humble author,**

**Castion and Clockwork **


	2. I love you Isn't that good enough?

**Hello my lovely darlings! I'm finally back with a nice hearty chapter for ya'll since you've been so good to me. :) I'm so glad I've got some followers for this story and even though its not as popular as my others, I'm dedicated to finish what I've started, even if its little by little. :) **

**Warnings: I hope you're ready for Spirk Drama. Because that is it. Hurt!Angry!Confused!Jim and poor Spock who's caught up in it. :)**

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The bars of Iowa were almost the same as he remembered them.

_Cheap._

_Dirty. _

_Forgotten._

_'__All the things I deserve.' _Jim thought heavily as he threw his head back to finish the dregs of his glass and wiped his sleeve across his mouth in a slow, sluggish movement.

The calm and serenity of his bond with Spock was muted by the alcohol, causing the edges of the foundation to fray and distort fuzzily, its usual smooth fluidity feeling murky, boggy, and sickeningly thick as he tried to wade through its parameters and close it behind a door. He felt Spock's soft probing presence that was trying to ask for him, to feel that Jim was ok and have proof that his bond mate didn't need any assistance, but Jim twisted the lock firmly against the invasive feeling and retreated cowardly from his own mind as he accepted another straight whiskey from the bar tender.

And as he perused the rest of the bar, his gaze glinting dully in the dimmed over head lights, Jim was amazed at how human everything seemed in that moment. After visiting clubs on planets in different galaxies, Jim had experienced it all. Dance floors filled with writhing alien bodies, the air thick with the varying pheromones of the aroused extraterrestrials, a kaleidoscope of colored drinks that tasted like the tongues he had sampled them from, while other places were more muted, though not unlike an assault on the senses as he basked in the golden glory that came with being a celebrated young captain, all the politicians vying for his undivided attention, the women flittering pettily about him with champagne flutes and glittery laughter as men in suits looked at him with intelligent, sparkling eyes, their strong hands sometimes grasping at his shoulder, a knowing wink bring a startled, good natured laugh from him.

But here, without his Command yellow and well-earned decorations pinned to his uniform, Jim Kirk faded into the backwash of society, and it was here that he saw the truth.

_None of it mattered. _

Saving Earth had painted him in the lime light beautifully for a few months, the public enjoying the gossip around him and his loyal crew, but after it all died down and he spent a few years out in the black, everyone forgot all about the young, handsome Jim Kirk.

Everyone but the Brass who kept riding his case each mission Jim completed. Their words still churned his stomach as he pictured their old, weathered faces and heard the condescension color their voices as they berated and nit-picked the results.

He wiped the residue on his glass and tried to draw pictures on the polished bar wood, but couldn't get the voices out of his mind as he let himself wallow in his self-pity.

_'__You're inconsistent, Kirk, and its that kind of record that leads to suspensions-'_

_'__You were lucky the whole damn plan didn't blow up in your face-'_

_'__Twelve casualties? This was supposed to be an easy endeavor, how do you lose twelve men-'_

_'__The boy is riding on faith and prayers, and I don't want to be in your shoes, Pike, when you have to tell him he's getting put on a freighter bound for deep space while the rest of his crew separates to research vessels-'_

Jim scrubbed his callused palms over his eyes as he let the sting of each memory hack at him, that last one churning his stomach more so as he thought of losing his beautiful silver lady and the family he had sloppily stitched together in it.

But in the end, as he nodded thanks to the barkeep and paid his tab, Jim Kirk felt expendable, _fleeting_, as if every second that he breathed was one more closer to the day he'd have to give up his home.

The Enterprise wasn't_ just a ship._

She was where Jim had sought comfort after life had dragged him through hell. His Captain's quarters were a beautiful controlled chaos, where his antiqued books with their dog-eared musty pages sat leaned against Vulcan artifacts, red drapes lining walls, a small bookshelf that held gold boxes of dried tea leaves, the bed covers smelling of heavy incense and Jim's cologne.

_The Enterprise was home. _

And as Jim opened the door to the hovercraft, a dark blue model his mother had bought when he was sixteen, he dreaded the thought of stomaching the house that lay at the end of the gravel road, the one that should be solace and comfort, but instead simply gathered dust over its creaking old hinges and waited for the doors to close so the memories could start.

_'__I still need to pick up a few things for dinner.' _He mused a bit dazedly, turning the key and revving the motor. The sound was clean and digital almost, instead of the delicious oil and gear gridding of old modals, and yet, feeling the wind whip through his hair and watch the empty earth speed past him compensated for the absence of feeing the thrumming exhaust and dirt beneath rubber tires. Jim scoffed, _'The things we give up for feeling better.'_ His fingers tensed white knuckled against the wheel as he thought of how he had left Spock in that old creaky house with the broken doll of his mother.

But he couldn't help it. After he had stepped up the stairs and breathed in the familiar scent of old whiskey, felt her coarse hair against his cheek and tried not to relive every other time he had to take care of her, Jim was simply amazed he hadn't gotten sick all over his own boots. There was a stagnant, sharp pain that lingered in the house and after years of basking in the freedom of Starfleet and the vast open skies of other worlds, Riverside felt like a rusted cage.

So the moment Jim had lead Spock downstairs, he barely had the conscious nicety to lock off his poisonous emotional turmoil and whisper some mangled excuse as he jogged out to the car and sped off.

_Running away like always. _

**_-Page Break-_**

_'__He must be so pissed.'_ Jim weighed the idea as he grabbed a loaf of wheat bread and added it to his cart beside the assortment of fruits. He had closed off his side of the bond for many reasons, to keep Spock from seeing just how desperate he was to overcome all of the things that shouldn't be tormenting him anymore now that he was a grown man, to make sure his sudden emotionalism wouldn't sicken Spock's sensitive system, but mostly because having that centering, understanding presence inside his head was….

_It was…_

_'__Something you believe you do not deserve.'_ Spock had whispered once to him as they lay curled together in a tangle of warm bed sheets. _'But James, trust in me, you have earned this.' _

He shook the tender memory away and mentally caressed the key to his locked mind.

"Jimmy?"

He started slightly at the voice, one he thought he wouldn't hear again after he had taken the shuttle to San Francisco.

"Maria," He gave his signature smile, the one that all the newspapers caught with the right flash, and looked at the woman, noticing her full curves and the same sweet taste of her perfume. She was just as beautiful as the night he had taken her to Prom, her dusky curls thick and loose about her tanned shoulders, hazel eyes ringed in dark lashes. "It's good to see you." He remembered how she had whispered that she had loved him.

Remembered the heavy, cold tears in her eyes after they made love and he couldn't find it in him to say _'I love you, too.'_

She hadn't been a conquest, simply a lovely listener that never expected something great from him. Maybe he had sought her to cover the wounds his distant mother had left, maybe it was because he thought his body was a worthy trade for her kindness to him, but either way he had ruined everything.

And he had run from that too.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you back here in Riverside." She smiled with her eyes and a dimple in one cheek, something he had always found endearing. "What brings a Captain here?"

Jim shrugged good naturedly, the slight buzz of his few drinks making him feel light under her attention. "I had some time off for shore leave. I thought…" He paused for a small beat, dumbstruck on what to say. He couldn't say it was because he missed his mother. Or because he had unfinished business here. And for some reason, bringing up Spock and meeting the in laws didn't seem right, so he lamely finished with, "I just thought I'd catch up a bit."

Maria's face brightened, her cheeks darkening as she stepped closer and dropped her gaze a bit shyly. "Well, it's good to have you back in the neighborhood." Jim wondered if she still was sore about that night all those years ago, wondered if she had forgiven him for his fear. "You know, I bet _'The Crash Site' _is still open, maybe you'd want to grab diner? I'd love to hear about what a Captain of his own starship has seen." Apparently she had.

"I'd love to." He confessed and promised to see her at the old diner after shopping.

And how wonderfully _normal_ it had been to sit at the booth, enjoying the greasiest hamburger he could remember having and laughing over his memories. Jim had missed the naivety that came with living on only one planet, sheltered from all the gloriously odd things that the universe was capable of. Maria was amazed at everything he said, the gleam of her eyes as she sipped on a milk shake and laughed over one of the tales inviting and open. For a moment, he was _timeless_. In her eyes, he was the perfect poster boy that he strove to be.

He was_ admired_.

He felt effortlessly _young. _

_Wild._

"We just have to meet up again." Maria confessed after dinner had finished and they stood by his car, her laugh lines shadowed in the moon light. She was warm so close to him, was human, and flawed, he remembered how she had giggled when he first kissed her almost ten years ago. She was a woman now and, in the heat of the night, he felt inexplicably human too. "Don't be a stranger." She winked with a laugh and hugged him quickly before departing, leaving him feeling both heavy and weightless.

And it was with swimming thoughts that Jim drove home in silent contemplation, his heart sighing for the lock between the bond to be clicked open, while some blistering part of his blood pondered if Maria still had the same phone number.

**_-Page Break-_**

Even though Spock had welcomed him home with open arms, nuzzling his face into the crook of Jim's jaw, it only took a slight, cold moment for him to step away, as if burnt, his clinical eyes looking at him in slight speculation.

"You were out with a woman." Was all that came out of his mouth, as if some grandiose deduction, and Jim's heart sank at the tight threads of jealousy and, to his surprise,_ self-deprecation_ that twisted in their bond.

Jim sighed heavily and pushed past his mate as he made a bee line to the kitchen and dropped the bags of groceries before he entered this battle. "Wait a minute, I get to explain. I just had dinner with an old friend."

Spock stood still as ice then, immovable, as he searched through their bond and came across the same locked door of their connection. Jim witnessed the delicate skin under his eyes tighten in frustration before that clear voice spoke, "You have shut me out for almost an entire day." The observation was true, but Jim didn't know what to say, so instead he filled the silence with a guilty scoff and turned toward the pantry so he could put the food away. But as he reached for the top shelf, he felt cool, gentle hands smooth his shoulders, the strong fingers grabbing softly at the curls of his nape. There were lips then on his neck, calming and indulgent as the alien mouthed dryly at the exposed shoulder, drawing forth a slight, delicious ache of Jim's fading bond bite. "Jim, please, allow me-" Spock molded himself to his back, reaching with curious, tender finger tips for the three meld points that would give entry to his bond mate's psyche.

But the split second before their katra slipped into place, Jim felt _trapped._

With a sharp shoulder roll, he pushed back, struggling a bit as he felt Spock untangle himself, an awful, sickening wave of black anger roiling between them then, but Jim swallowed the feeing and shouldered his way past the Vulcan.

"Go to bed, I'll be up in a minute." Kirk quipped, and to his surprise their bond went completely numb as Spock left him alone, turning abruptly out and gliding up the stairs, his footsteps not once echoing in the old corridor.

And as he stands still, hands clenched in tight fists of exasperation, he feels like screaming because even now, he feels like he's _running away._

**_-Page Break-_**

The first level of meditation was difficult to wade in as Spock sought inner peace, his legs folded beneath him, hands feeling knotted and locked as he tried to uncurl them from their frustrated, white knuckled grip on his knees. His anger flared white hot and explosive in his chest as he tried to breathe through it, a ribbon of jealousy twisting with the sparks and igniting something new.

The scent of the woman on Jim had opened up something that Spock had stitched and cauterized years ago, the idea of how he would never be _good enough _to keep the Captain's attentions still aching him like an old wound. James T. Kirk had been promiscuous, well loved, and highly sought after, but their coupling had assured him that Jim loved him. He would be enough to keep him sated.

But kneeling here, on the rough carpet of Kirk's old room, Spock felt like maybe he had missed something in the glorious, passionate blur hat had been their first months as a couple on the Enterprise, the year that followed their bonding proving to have simpered to a stalemate. This homecoming was supposed to awaken Spock to all the little manneraisms that made up his beloved, but so far he had only solidified the idea that Jim was unstable and the imbalance was deeply rooted in his childhood. And while Spock understood the detriments of adolescent baggage, so to speak, he at least had a caring mother.

To which Jim had nothing.

Spock repositioned his hands again and took another inhale, the air of the room still thick from being closed for so many wasted years, and let the predominant emotions present themselves.

_Anger._ At his mate's weariness of him, at the woman who had subtly marked Jim, at the spiced scent of arousal that James had after seeing her-

He felt his blunt nails digging into his palm and set his jaw against the myriad frustrations.

_Let them go. They have no power._

_'__Think of the emotions as lights.'_ Sarek had said to a young Spock who had straightened his back at his Father's correction and tried not to think of the pull in his crossed legs. _'You must governor what flicks the switches on and off. If you let others turn on your lights without permission then they control you-_' Her mind was steeping in the thick musk of the incense's smoke and his voice reverberated like cello strings as he envisioned the lights and tried to turn them off, tried to place their switches behind a glass casing.

It usually worked, for the most part, but Jim had always had a way of turning on lights.

And behind the anger had been…

_Shame_. The clawing, sly feeling that Spock maybe loathed in the moment worse than any other emotion, because it had bridled him his entire life. Shame at his heritage, at his practices, at his childish confusion at every turn. But now it was driven toward a force that he never thought possible.

_His mate had turned from him._

The burn of his disappointment was like a scar, one he self-consciously felt as if everyone could see, even though he knew it was all imaginary. The old scripts of his ancestors were descriptive with what was still permissible to upstanding Vulcans and the Meld was the greatest intimacy, when shared correctly, equally. To pull away or reject it was a like a curse, a plague, like bodily rejecting a sacred communion.

Spock's shoulders slumped at the thought of Jim's slip up. Of course the human didn't quite understand how vital the mental connection was to Vulcans, but his ignorance hurt Spock in ways that felt demeaning, degrading. Something that had once been easy and lovely between them, strengthening them, had now disgusted Jim, Spock had felt it in the flash of hurt before Kirk pulled away, and the entire night closed in on him then, his lips trembling as he opened his eyes and broke the meditation trance.

His cheeks felt wet, eyes stinging and throat feeling raw as he tried to count his breathing, and he felt the vicious circle complete itself as he saw the time.

It had been four hours and Jim still hadn't come up to bed.

And even though Spock's fluttering psyche sought comfort in his mate, to quell the imbalance that was rewiring the sensitive, broken chains in him, his pride kept him stone faced and kneeling on the floor.

_'__If he wishes to he alone, then I'll grant him that.'_ Spock had thought as he closed his part of the bond downstairs, but now he didn't even try to reach out to the small inkling of apology he felt seeping under the cracks of Jim's shields.

Instead, he simply eased back and waited for a light sleep to pull him into oblivion, focusing all thoughts on peace, calm, clear, when a horrid, terrified scream rent the charged air.

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**Oooooh and the plot thickens! **

**I do hope that you guys are enjoying this. I'd enjoy feed back, either good or bad, so that I may make these stories enjoyable for all my readers. Feel free to review or PM me for anything, I'm open to suggestions, ideas, and comments! :) **

**With love, from your loyal author,**

**Castion and Clockwork **


	3. I've wasted the best parts of me on you

**Hello there beauties! Here's the next installment, a little late. Hope it lives up to your expectations! And please, please, if there is something you want to see happen or anything at all, leave a review or prvate message me! I av't gotten any feed back yet for this story and that concerns me. If it isn't any good then I'll stop writing. But if ya'll like it then I'll continue to put effort into the story. :) **

**Warnings: There's massive sadness ahead. And Jim might say the F word...oooooooh.**

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As Jim placed the last peach in the hanging mesh bowl, his thumb swiping over the soft skin one last time, he finally felt the cold stirrings of apology well up in him, shameful and flooding.

He remembers how his mother and Frank had fought, with shattering plates and slamming doors, always ending with Winona hiding in the kitchen and washing dishes methodically as she stared out the window, her eyes intent on the vast expanse of dark space.

And even though this disagreement with Spock was much less fierce, it felt just as detrimental as if they had gone at each other, no holds barred. No matter what, he was slowly becoming the life he had feared.

The kitchen was dimly lit with the lamp light from the living room and a few streaks of moonlight through the window, each dainty source casting odd shadows as Jim turned and leaned his weight on the counter with a sigh of defeat.

_'__I shouldn't have come here.' _

The words soaked him with icy denial, drops of regret forming like shards in the dark pit of his chest that feels spiked and crowded in him then, and as he tries to catch his breath he _feels_ the scream that echoes down the stairs. It raises the hair on his arms; feeling ruffled and on edge as the hoarse, sharp cry rattles again, and Jim feels mechanical as he ssets his jaw and swallows back the disgust at walking up the stairs to calm his mother.

He remembers as a boy, who's knees were skinned red with flecking road rash, kneeling by his mother's bed side and watching as she writhed in the tight, crinkling sheets around her, the scent of starch and sweat, maybe a dab of her perfume, heavy and horrid as he reaches his tiny, paper cut fingers to her shaking shoulders and asks in a small voice if she's ok. Her watery sobs made Jim feel useless as he had pulled his body up on the bed and in his childlike innocence, stated that _'Its ok, Momma.' _Winona only shook her head, hair knotted and fingers curled around her red ringed eyes as she kept crying, inconsolable.

Jim wonders if she'll be like that now, his left foot squeaking a stair as she rests his weight for a second and grasps the wooden handrail for support.

But as he pushed gently at her cracked open door, wincing at the creak of the old hinges, Jim didn't hear the choked, awful noise of his mother trying to hide her sorrow. Instead, before his very eyes, Jim saw a tall, sure figure perched at Winona's bedside, his back to Jim as he reached a calm hand and uncurled his fingers against her sunken, ashen face.

Spock swiped his fingertips across her brow, lining each digit just so on her temple, cheek, and chin as he leaned closer to her, a comforting aura seeping off him in warm, gentle waves that Jim could almost feel. His mother was quiet as she fluttered her eyes open, their heavy lids almost drugged as she fought to stay awake against the tranquil force that pulsed through her at Spock's tender suggestion, and Jim almost spoke up until he noticed the soft mantra Spock was reciting in old Vulcan, its harsh consonants lost in the deep whisper of his voice as it filled the silence in between Winona's sleep and the reality that was beyond her exhausted, grieving soul.

The sight was wonderful, a testament to the bleeding human heart that Spock did have buried beneath the sacrament of Vulcan philosophy, and suddenly Jim felt like a complete failure all over again. The bravado and pride that had warmed his insides at the rays of wonder in Maria's eyes shriveled and dried in the hot, strong rays of Spock's kindness.

"G-George?" His mother's voice cracked softly as she reached a slender hand to him, beckoning weakly past Spock as her exhausted eyes focused then on Jim as he came from the shadows of the hall way, head down, face lined with uncertainty. A dark pit in him ate at him like acid, corrosive and hot in his stomach as he slowly drew nearer and finally grabbed her fingers in his.

"No, Mama. It's just me."

Spock's gaze broke from Winona's thin, frowning lips as she trembled and fell back into exhaustion, and he tried to catch Jim's eyes. He wanted to say something profound, something that would righten the crooked feeling the room had taken on, but Spock didn't have an inkling of voice in him then.

**_-Page Break-_**

A small part of Spock wished Jim was Vulcan so he could simply run his fingertips over his meld points and take the sorrow onto himself; show Jim that he was willing to share the burden. But what Jim required wasn't the joining of minds for understanding. He needed….

_Needed…_

Spock didn't allow himself the human reprieve of sighing as he faced the reality that he had no clue what his mate wanted in his greatest time of need.

They sat in the living room, the kindling in the fireplace crackling and popping with the scent of hickory, of winter. The warm was warm with the blaze, so much so that Jim's cheeks were ruddy and boyish in the flame's cast light. The shadows played on Jim's still angles as he stared into the inferno, unmoving, and for once, Spock found himself hating the silence and calm. But then, his jumbled, barbed thoughts stopped as he felt Jim's clammy, callused hand grab onto his shoulder, two gentle fingers catching at his throat.

"Thank you." Jim said, looking embarrassed and giving off waves of shame as he refused to meet Sock's questioning stare. And in the thick silence of the room the words sounded so heavy that they might drag both to perdition, but they also rang clear, terribly truthful, and confused. As if maybe Jim meant to say _"I'm sorry", "I love you" "Please stay"_ in the same breath. And it was in that moment that Spock wondered how anyone could do this; love someone as completely as he wanted Jim, because with those worse Spock felt fear and elation, felt empty and filled, felt so much more that he thought should be capable.

And he began to wonder, as he covered Jim's hand with his own and brought his finger tips to his lips, if he'd be able to do this for a life time.

"My mom…she's not usually like this…" Jim cursed quietly under his breath, his eye brows crumpling his troubled expression. "I shouldn't have brought you here…"

Spock let his tongue peek out and catch a scar on Jim's index finger, pressing his lips more assuredly around the tip. He knew Jim didn't feel the gesture as a Vulcan would have, hot and heady, but Jim's racing pulse against his tongue and the taste of his emotions on his palate were enough. The simple gesture was enough for Jim to understand that Spock wanted to help, wanted to do anything that would ease him.

"Spock." Came Jim's dizzy command, curling his fingers from Spock's mouth and drawing away. "Look, I know I didn't handle what happened when I came home the correct way. I shouldn't have blocked you out." His voice was thick with holding something back, and Spock felt the stirrings of something _wrong_ churn the air around them. "It's just so fucking frustrating, ok? I'm usually so in control and yet I walk through that front door and I feel like I'm going to explode. You don't understand." That phrase struck Spock like a steel tipped arrow, digging in him cruelly, "I love you, I really do, and yet I see an old friend and my body just kicks into gear. I know it's all just terrible coping mechanisms but I feel like you should be enough and_ you aren't_-"

And just as the half formed thought left Jim's lips he knew that that wasn't what he wanted to say. Spock stiffened, the steel hurt in his eyes like chainmail as he rose from his place, the shimmer of anger lighting his katra as it flared lividly in Jim's mind across the bond.

"My apologies Captain,"

"Wait, Spock I didn't mean that-" But the plea was met with cold eyes locked on his. And in that instant, Jim wondered if Spock would beat him senseless.

A part of him wanted to feel the fists and the blood, the bruises and broken lip.

His body almost _ached_ for it.

"I was unaware that I was simply a fix to your problems." The Vulcan said, no longer Spock as he stood all of his height with his shoulders back, chin held high and the marble carved seriousness giving him a dark, dangerous glint. "And as I no longer serve you a purpose I will leave." Jim watched him turn toward the door and he felt a hairline fracture bolt through his chest.

"You misunderstand," Jim started again raising his voice indignantly, feeling the heat of it strengthen him, swelling the fighter in his body to come and wreck things. His balled fists and shaking arms felt good, his clenched jaw and blazing muscles were ready to swing.

But he was doused out with the cold, steady monsoon that was Vulcan control.

"No, James,_ you_ misunderstand. I will not allow myself to be used in such a blatantly shameful way. My friendship for you transcends what I should allow myself; the adoration that colors my view of you has blinded me to what you are. My colleagues have called me cold, unfeeling, and heartless and none have fazed me. But yet, in the face of my greatest weakness, I find myself being called _'not enough.'_ To which all I can say is I am sorry, Jim. I have been kind, understanding, gentle. I have tried to be what you need and again, I am _not enough_. I have been nothing but good to you, and yet it is _not enough_." Instantly Jim felt drenched and trembling, the sting of tears lodged in the back of his raw throat burning as he desperately tried to open the bond between them, but when he unlocked his side, he found a wall of ice erected in its place. The man in front of him didn't speak bitterly no, but it was taciturn and uncomfortably intimate.

Spock turned on heel and left through the door, hurried and precise, the robes around him catching on the cool night breeze. And as the screen door slammed metallically, Jim didn't know what to say to bring him back.

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**As much as I adore cute, lovable Spirk stories, I wanted to try fleshing out a verbal battle of bitterness between them. I hope things get better from here, I guess you'll have to stick around for the next installment to find out what happens. What should Kirk do? Go apologize? Wait for Spock to come back? Call McCoy? **

**Tell me what ya'll think! :) **

**With love from your loyal author,**

**Castion and Clockwork **


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